


Love Me Harder

by thetealord



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nightmares, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetealord/pseuds/thetealord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James is supposed to go to Argentina for recon, but instead is laid up in bed horribly ill. Bedivere takes his place on the mission and when he's killed, it's an enormous shock to both Harry and James who have been in a relationship for around twelve years. After James recovers, Harry and James are supposed to take the mission together, but Harry refuses to let James help him and ends up in a coma as a result. During the ensuing months, James thinks deeply about why Harry refused his help, spends time with the other agents, and patches up his shattered friendship with Percival. When Harry wakes up, they have a long talk about the events of the past few months and fix their own relationship problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Me Harder

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kingsman Big Bang!
> 
> You can see the wonderful art for this fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5412362)!

 

James expected to wake up that morning refreshed and ready to take on anything. Ready to get on that plane and fly to Argentina, to track down those mercenaries once and for all.

         Instead, he woke up with his head pounding and aching, his limbs thick and heavy, and his sinuses stuffed up so badly he just shoved his head under the pillow and tried adamantly to go right back to sleep.

         Harry shoved on his shoulder a moment later, telling him, quite loudly, to get up. James just groaned and pulled the pillow over his head, curling up into a ball and swatting at Harry's hand. "Go away," he grumbled.

         There was a long-suffering sigh from Harry, and he could feel the man looming over his side of the bed, tugging at his pillow. James, honestly, did not have the strength to resist and let Harry take it, cracking one eye to look up at him.

         "Dear God," Harry mumbled as he looked down at him. "What's the matter?" He lifted one hand and pressed the back of it against James's forehead, frowning. James just closed his eyes and slumped against the mattress. "Oh, dear," Harry sighed. James could hear him slipping out of bed and putting on his housecoat and slippers. "Well that's not good at all."

         He came back a moment later with the thermometer, shoved it under James's tongue, and tsked at it when he pulled it out again and looked at the temperature. "Not good at all," he mumbled. "Where on earth did this come from? You were fine yesterday."

         James just grunted at him and listened as Harry's footsteps left the room again. It was then that he finally remembered, his mind slowed by sickness, that he had a mission to complete. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up and stared around the room. Everything was spinning, and he groaned again and collapsed back onto the pillows, pressing one hand over his face to rub at his eyes. "Feel like shit," he muttered to himself.

         Harry came back with a glass of water and an extra pillow, smiling at him. "Here, darling man," he said softly, waiting for James to lean up so that he could put the pillow behind his head, then sat on the edge of the bed and held the glass up for him to drink. James took the glass with trembling fingers, drank, and passed it back to Harry before settling against the pillows and closing his eyes.

         "I need to go to Argentina," James muttered a moment later, and Harry shook his head.

         "Oh, no you don't, not like that. You'll do nothing but get yourself killed. No, absolutely not. I'll call up Merlin and let him know."

         "But..." James protested, but he couldn't think of any good excuses, and then he couldn't think of anything to say at all and just fell silent.

         Harry stroked his hair, kissed his forehead, and stood again. "Don't worry, darling, I'm sure they'll figure something out. I'll let you know what the decision is, all right? But you'd best not push yourself. You'll only make yourself sicker."

         "Harry," James mumbled, reaching for him, and Harry took his hand, squeezed it, and smiled at him.

         "Shh, go back to sleep." The older man stroked his hair and left the room and James reluctantly let himself drift off again.

 

James’ dreams were filled with mountains and snow and men with guns. He awoke, gasping, disoriented and covered in sweat. He sat up, clutching his bare chest. His heart pounded in his ears, his head swimming each time he moved it. He honestly felt like he’d been run over by a truck.

         The room was dim, the curtains drawn closed, but it was his room and he was home. He collapsed back onto his pillows, groaning into them, but at the least he’d probably sweat out his fever. Harry had left him a glass of water and a bowl of soup, now gone cold.

         He had no idea how long he’d been out. Argentina still sat in the back of his mind, a large, looming presence. It was only an effect of the dreams, he knew, because everything that could possibly go wrong always went wrong in dreams, but still. The determination he’d felt when he remembered waking up that morning was now heavily overshadowed by a sense of dread.

         He remembered Harry saying he would talk to Merlin and Arthur and almost sat up again, eyes wide. Harry wasn’t on a mission right now. Arthur would try to send him. “Shit,” he wheezed, stretching his arm out towards the bedside table so hard and sudden it made the migraine behind his eyes pulse and pound, but his fingers closed around his phone, and he pulled up Harry’s name with one eye open and put it to his ear.

         “Please, please pick up,” he whispered, curling into a tight ball on his side, gripping the blankets.

         “James?”

         He let out a long, deep breath as soon as he heard Harry’s voice on the other end.

         “Is everything all right?”

         “Just woke up,” James mumbled, frustrated at how slurred his voice sounded, at how hard it was to talk at all. “I feel like shit.”

         There was a pause, and then Harry said, quietly, “I’m at the shop. I’ll come right home.” Then he hung up, and James threw the blankets up over his head and curled beneath them, eyes closed, still gripping his phone. He hated being sick, he hated being vulnerable, he hated Harry having to take care of him, and not being able to do his job, and the whole ordeal, but at least… at least Harry was still in London. At least he was safe. After those dreams, James really couldn’t ask for more.

 

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, Harry was sitting on the side of the bed, stroking his hair in long, soothing strokes. He’d apparently kicked off half the blankets as well and was lying with one leg thrown over the covers, clutching his pillow.

         He blinked blearily up at Harry and when the other man smiled at him, warm and soft, he couldn’t help but smile back.

         “You look like hell,” Harry said gently, pushing away his sweat-soaked hair and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “You’re cooler than you were this morning, though. Here, I brought you something that should help. Can you sit up?” He produced a bottle of pills from his pocket, shook two out onto his hand, and when James nodded and managed to lean up, Harry handed them both to him, along with his water.

         He drank, swallowed them, groaned, and lay back down again, staring up at Harry, just letting the other man stroke his hair. It was nice, that sort of affection. Not that Harry wasn’t an affectionate person—he was—just not always like this. But there was a bit of heaviness in the air between them, too. After whatever meeting he had at the shop, James was sure Harry had plenty to tell him that he was holding back.

         “What happened with Merlin an’ Arthur?” James slurred after a few moments of quiet.

         Harry stopped stroking his hair, his hand resting on the side of James’ head. James looked up at the older man, trying to meet his eyes. When Harry said nothing, a sudden realization gripped him, hard and cold. He could barely get out the words. “Arthur wants you to go instead,” James said quietly.

         There was one, horrifying moment where he thought he was right.

         Then Harry shook his head and pursed his lips. “Arthur did, actually. But I… told him I can’t. Merlin agreed, so that was that. He sent Bedivere.”

         “Bedivere,” James mumbled. Bedivere was their oldest agent, aside from Arthur himself. He’d been a Kingsman for something like forty years, and he was one of their best. James let out a slow breath. Yes, Bedivere was a good choice. He would be fine. It was just surveillance, anyway. James still wasn’t quite sure what he was so worked up about. Just… those dreams…

         Reaching out a hand, he took Harry’s in his while the man went back to stroking his hair with the other. Their fingers tangled together, and James squeezed his palm tight. “Have you got somewhere else to be?” he asked.

         Harry shook his head. “With that settled, no. Merlin and Arthur just want you to recover as quickly as possible, and I’m to help with that. Although, since the mission is technically yours and we’ve all got our hands in it now, I suppose I’ll be updating you on some of Bedivere’s progress, at least as much as Merlin will tell me. Then I’m sure you’ll get the full report when he returns.”

         James nodded, though that was about as much as he could take in when his brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “I don’t want to get you sick,” he mumbled, but Harry just snorted at him.

         “It seems like you’ve just caught a bad cold to me, but if it gets any worse we’ll get Merlin over here to have a look at you tomorrow. You know I’ve got an immune system like steel, I’ll be fine.”

         He was right about that, Harry hadn’t been seriously sick as long as James had known him. Usually James didn’t get sick either, but he had recently come back from a trip to the states so it was possible he’d picked something up over there.

         “Lay with me,” he asked, and Harry pulled away for just a moment, slipped off his shoes and his suit coat, pulled off his tie and glasses, and then slid beneath the blankets with him. James curled up right against him, and when Harry touched his cheek and smiled at him so wide and warm his dimples showed, James honestly felt like his heart might burst from affection.

         “You’ll be all right in a few days,” Harry mumbled, leaning over to kiss his forehead, then pulled James closer, until his head was pillowed on Harry’s shoulder. James looped an arm around the older man, breathing him in, and closed his eyes. “Just rest, my dear heart.”

         James smiled, surely would have purred if he could, and curled closer, drifting once again into a much easier sleep.

 

James slept for most of the next day, waking up sometimes to Harry sitting watchfully in bed with him, and sometimes to the man puttering around the house or out of the room. He managed to eat a few bowls of soup, drink some water, and his fever, thankfully, continued to go down rather than up.

         Later in the afternoon, Harry informed him that Merlin had received communication from Bedivere upon his safe landing in La Rioja and that he would soon be following the notes Lancelot had left regarding the targets’ suspected location.

         He tried not to think about it. He knew it should be him out there. It was frustrating, on top of the unsettling feeling he still had in the pit of his stomach. He knew if he was there, he would have easily thrown caution to the wind if it meant the success of his mission, would have pushed aside all fears and doubts he might have harbored about these men and the work they were doing. But there, in his bed at home with nothing else to do, nothing else to think about, it was too easy for those thoughts to continuously creep into his mind and settle there.

         “Harry,” he said suddenly as night began to fall again. The fact that he hadn’t done anything but lay in bed for two straight days was starting to get to him, especially with the thought of Bedivere in Argentina looming over him.

         Harry was stretched out on the bed next to him, ankles crossed, intently reading. “Mm?” came the reply as the older man turned a page of his book.

         “I need something to do, I think I’m going mad.”

         Harry set his book down on his lap and smiled at him. “Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it? You must be feeling better, then.” He paused and studied James’ face for a moment. “Worried about Bedivere?”

         James nodded. “A little, yes. I shouldn’t be here, Harry. I should be… out there, with him or instead of him.”

         Harry sighed, leaned over, and pulled the blankets up to James’ chin. “I know, darling. But there’s nothing you can do with a sickness like this except rest and let it pass. Would you like to read something, perhaps?”

         James shook his head a little. “Ah—no, my headache… I’m not sure if I can manage it.”

         There was a small pause, and then Harry slid closer and snuggled down next to him beneath the blankets. “Then I’ll read to you,” he said. And as he began, James found himself closing his eyes, easing down against the older man’s shoulder, listening. And at last, once again, all his worries fell quiet.

 

The next day James was feeling significantly better. Enough to sit up, eat real food, even read for a while, so his thoughts didn’t weigh so heavily on his mind.

         Harry deemed him well enough that he could be left alone for a while, and went to the shop to speak to Merlin in person. About what, he didn’t say, but it didn’t matter. James just did his honest best not to think about Bedivere, or about Argentina, the mercenaries, or his mission, and he tried not to be too frustrated about still being stuck in bed. He knew very well that if he rested another day or two more, he’d be fine and back to work again in no time.

         His temperature was almost completely back to normal, but he was still exhausted, and after reading for a few hours the headache he’d had on and off was pressing up against the backs of his eyes again, so he closed them.

         He did not see the red K flashing on his phone or register much of anything until Harry was at his bedside, shaking him awake.

         “James,” he said, quiet, hurried. “James. Come on, get up. Put on your suit.” Harry was already tossing articles of clothing onto the bed—a clean shirt, trousers, his tie, and James sat up slowly, running a hand back through his hair. He started to put them on with all the finesse of a very awkward turtle.

         Harry sighed in exasperation and started helping him, buttoning up his shirt for him, getting his suit coat on straight, tying his tie. James noticed it wasn’t his usual suit that Harry had passed him, the tan one he wore on missions. It was the navy blue pinstripes, standard Kingsman business attire.

         “Harry,” he mumbled as he slipped out of bed so he could get his trousers and belt on straight. He started toeing on and lacing up the shoes Harry had set on the floor next to him. “What’s going on?”

         “Just hurry up, I’ll tell you in the car.”

         James didn’t even have time to properly fix his hair before Harry was shoving him out the door, into the cab, and they were on their way to the shop.

         Only then did James see the red K, plain and bright on the screen, and knew there must be a matching one on his phone. He didn’t know what to say except, “I forgot my glasses,” and Harry sighed and produced them from the inside pocket of his coat.

         “I knew you would.”

         “It was Bedivere,” James said as he slid the glasses into his own inner pocket, the realization finally hitting him full in the face. “Wasn’t it?”

         “Yes,” Harry said, staring out the front window, never one to beat around the bush at times like this.

         James just stared at the screen, still lethargic from the residual sickness and too much sleep.

         Bedivere. Dead.

         And then he realized something else, the most horrifying realization of all, and he knew why Harry was barely speaking, barely looking at him, putting away his emotions behind a mask of calm efficiency as he so often did, keeping himself contained so that he didn’t break down.

         “That should have been me,” James whispered, trembling now, voice quivering, and without so much as a word Harry reached over and took his hand, held it tight, so tight it almost hurt, as they pulled up in front of the shop.

         They looked at each other, and James could see the pain, the worry, and the fear in the older man’s eyes. Harry’s hands were shaking, too, as they pulled apart and Harry nudged him to get out of the car. “We’re late,” he mumbled, and James nodded, understood that meant they would talk later, and stepped out onto the sidewalk and up into the shop with Harry behind him.

         “Arthur is in the dining room, sirs,” Thomas said from behind the counter as they passed, and they each nodded to him without a word, too solemn to say anything at all as they headed up to greet Arthur.

         Arthur chided them, in a gentle way, for being late (as per usual) and they each went to their respective seats and put their glasses on.

         As Arthur gave a quick speech, James glanced at each of their solemn faces. He even caught the eye of Percival briefly. The younger man gave him a slight smile. Unusual for him, considering how shaky their relationship was. They’d dated when James was young and twenty-five and stupid, two years before he started dating Harry. Their relationship had not ended well and Percival had refused to speak with him for years after.

         Now that they were older, it was easier to forgive and forget, but that smile was the first Percival had given him since their single year spent together. It was nice, in a way, although surprising.

         None of the other agents looked at him. He was sure they all had a vague idea of what had happened. Many of them probably pitied him. Maybe some of them resented him because they knew it should be Bedivere sitting at that table, not him.

         He tried his hardest not to look at the empty chair across from him and simply drank the brandy, mumbled the words, “To Bedivere,” and met Harry’s eyes instead. Despite his shakiness in the car, Harry looked, as usual, completely relaxed. Though James knew that wasn’t the truth in the least.

         When the toast was done, Arthur announced his intentions to replace Bedivere as quickly as possible, and as he finished, Percival looked over at James, the hologram image of the other man just briefly touching his arm.

         “You ask Roxy, Lancelot,” he said.

         James just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. “What? But Percival she’s _your_ niece. That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

         Percival shrugged. “She’s _your_ friend too, you know. And she prefers you, she always has. Just ask her. You deserve to. I’ll find someone else.”

         Before James could open his mouth to protest further, the hologram disappeared. The other Kingsmen blinked out one by one, returning to their duties.

         James pulled off his glasses and set them down on the table, turning to say something to Harry but the older man held up his hand. Right. Talk later.

         “Ah, Merlin,” Arthur said, looking up. Harry and James followed his gaze as their Quartermaster entered the room.

         “Afternoon Arthur, Galahad, Lancelot.” Merlin nodded to each of them and went to stand near Arthur’s left. “Good to see you out of bed, Lancelot.”

         “Aha, yes,” James mumbled. Honestly he still felt terrible, and his headache was starting to come back, but it did feel good to be up and about again, despite the circumstances.

         “I think all of us know that this mission has been a little peculiar,” Merlin said in his thick accent.

         That was one way of putting it lightly, James supposed.

         Merlin started by going over the basics, and the vague purpose of the group that James had been keeping an eye on for some time. And then came the point where the mission had been handed over to Bedivere to continue. Apparently, the man had gone to Argentina as instructed, and had taken a snapshot of the location he’d tracked the mercenary group to based on James’s research.

         He’d discovered a group of four or five men there who had kidnapped a man named Professor James Arnold and decided to enact a solo rescue mission. He’d recorded quite a bit of his infiltration, but the recording ended abruptly as he fell to the floor and the glasses broke, presumably meaning someone had attacked him from behind.

         James knew what Harry would say. A solo rescue mission was reckless. He couldn’t say anything about that, because he knew he would have done the same thing. Such a small group of men shouldn’t have posed any threat at all, even if they were well-trained mercenaries. They were still no match for a fully trained and highly experienced Kingsman. That meant the person who had taken Bedivere out was even more skilled than one of the most skilled Kingsmen they had. A sobering thought.

         Even more peculiar, Professor Arnold was seen at Imperial College that morning, apparently not missing at all.

         Merlin set down two files, one for Harry, and one for James.

         “You two will be working on the mission together from here on out,” Arthur informed them. “And don’t forget about the selection process.” He leaned over to speak some private words with Harry while Merlin motioned for James to stand up and follow him out.

         “I know this was your mission, Lancelot,” he said as they stepped out of the dining room together. “But Arthur and I agree that this is a unique situation. I’m sure you must be feeling a bit of shock.”

         James nodded, distantly. “A bit,” he muttered, “Yes.” That was an understatement.

         Merlin set a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You and Harry will be most effective as a team, covering for each other. I trust you’ll be able to work out the details among yourselves.”

         “Of course, Merlin.” James gave him his best attempt at a smile. “That’s fine, thank you.”

         Harry stepped out, then, looking a bit perturbed. He glanced at James, nodded and muttered a quiet greeting to Merlin, and then left, apparently expecting James to follow, which he did. But Harry did not seem happy in the least, and they didn’t speak in the car, or when they got home. Withdrawn and subdued, Harry simply put him to bed, letting James succumb to his own thoughts.

 

 

 

“So that’s it?” Roxy asked, sipping her iced coffee through a straw. “You’re honestly just going to ask me subtly in a coffee shop? I was expecting something more dramatic than that.”

         James snorted at her and smiled over the lip of his tea. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were expecting fireworks that spell out ‘WILL YOU BE MY PICK’,” he motioned with one hand in the air, “as we charge through a horde of unlawful mercenaries together knocking them out with our mad kick-boxing skills.”

         Roxy laughed a little, sipped her drink and rolled her eyes. “All right, all right, that’s fair.”

         “Besides, you grew up with this. That kind of spoils the whole surprise.”

         “It does,” she agreed with a sigh. “Honestly I’m a little jealous of the other recruits.”

         “Don’t be.” He grinned. “You’ll have a leg up on them all, that’s better for you. You deserve this, Roxy, you’ve wanted it since you were what, six?”

         “Ah—yes, when I saw my first Bond movie and Uncle told me what he did, thinking I wouldn’t believe him, except it was just the opposite. I was so excited, I begged him to let me come with him on missions.” She laughed and smiled thoughtfully. “Do you know why Uncle didn’t want to be my mentor?”

         “It wasn’t that.” James set his drink down on the table and looked at her, smile faltering. “It was… well, the circumstances around the death of the one we’re replacing.”

         “Oh.” Roxy frowned, reaching out and putting her hand over his. “Of course, the man who died was your friend, wasn’t he? I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

         James shook his head. “Thank you, Roxy, but no. Not right now.” He couldn’t, in his right mind, talk to anyone else about it until he’d talked to Harry. And he still hadn’t talked to Harry. He didn’t know when he would.

         “My Uncle still really cares about you, you know,” she said quietly. “As a friend, I mean.”

         James sighed. He didn’t want to get into this, but he supposed they might as well get it out so that he didn’t have to get an earful later. “I know. Listen, Roxy—“

         “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” she said, “but please. It’s been fifteen _years_ , Uncle James. Just apologize to him.”

         “Apologize?” James spat. “That was ages ago. Can’t he just forget it already?”

         “You know how stubborn he is.” Roxy frowned. “It would mean so much to him. Please. For me?”

         “He’s in Paris,” James pointed out.

         Roxy nodded. “Yes, of course, excuses, excuses.” She folded her arms. “When he gets _back_ , Uncle James. Then will you?”

         James scrubbed one hand back through his hair and sighed. He could normally get around this, but with Roxy on base, actually able to keep an eye on him, he knew he wouldn’t get out of it. Best to bite the bullet. “All right. Fine. I will. When he gets back. Promise.” He took a sip of his drink.

         She gave him an incredulous look, then nodded approvingly. “Good. And talk to Harry.”

         James nearly spat out his tea. “How did—I didn’t mention anything about that!”

         She laughed. “It’s all over your face. And I’ve known you for years. You love each other so much, I know it will be fine. Just talk to him, okay?”

         “Okay,” James sighed, honestly feeling rather exhausted, but he did smile for her. “Are you done berating me now? We should get going.”

         She stood and tossed her empty cup in the bin. “I agree. Let’s go.”

 

He didn’t see Harry again until that evening, when the new recruits were getting situated with Merlin.

         “Percival let you pick Roxy,” Harry noted the second James approached him, more an observation than anything, though there was a hint of distaste in his voice.

         “Yes,” James said, a little thrown off. “Because she’s my friend, too.”

         Harry just shrugged and James folded his arms.

         “And so? What does it matter who picked her? Roxy has been with Kingsman since she was a child. And you went out and picked up the Unwin boy.”

         Harry glowered at him. “Have you got a problem with that, James? Are you going to tell me the same thing Arthur does? That he’s not suitable? That I should have chosen a better candidate?”

         James frowned and stared at him for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “You know that’s not what I think. He deserves to be here as much as any of them. I just… I don’t want another repeat incident.”

         “Well, there won’t be.”

         That seemed to be the end of that conversation.

         “Tomorrow I’m going to Imperial College to pay a visit to Professor Arnold,” Harry said. “I don’t expect you to come. You should stay home and rest.”

         James turned away from him. His heart clenched in his chest. But fine, if Harry wanted to make plans for their mission without telling him and execute it himself, so be it. “Fine. Are you coming back with me, at least?”

         “I have work to do here,” Harry said. “I’ll be a while longer. You go on ahead.”

         James had half a mind to turn, shake him, ask him what was bloody wrong with him, try to talk to him, anything. But he just… didn’t have the energy to deal with Harry being all distant and distracted, so he just nodded, mumbled a goodnight that he wasn’t even sure Harry heard, and left to take the cab home.

 

He did not see Harry the following morning. The older man was up and out of the house before he arose mid-morning. For a long while, James laid on Harry’s side of the bed, clutching his pillow and breathing in the scent of his shampoo and pomade and a scent that was very distinctly _Harry_.

         He wasn’t sure why the man was avoiding him. Probably a number of reasons. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to start conversations with him.

         He should have cornered him last night and made him sit down and talk. He knew that. He knew that was likely what Harry wanted, too, and just wouldn’t say it. He’d always been terrible at dealing with his emotions, ever since they were young.

         Roxy was right. He just needed to talk to him and everything would be fine. His sickness, at least, had passed for the most part, so he rose and ate and got dressed. Then he left for their headquarters to meet Harry when he returned from Imperial College with the information he acquired from Professor Arnold.

         He was met, instead, by a frantic Merlin, although Merlin wasn’t ever really frantic, just the look in his eyes was. After so many years together, he could read his old mentor pretty well.

         “Where’s Harry?” James asked immediately.

         Merlin just looked at him for a long moment, not sure what to say or where to begin.

         “Something happened,” James said immediately.

         Merlin held out a hand. “Now before you go jumping to conclusions, Lancelot, I’m sure Harry is going to be all right—“

         Before Merlin could finish he’d turned and sprinted, down the hall and up the stairs—stairs were faster than the elevator—up to the floor the infirmary was on. They had a small hospital there at headquarters, enough to fit a good number of patients but certainly not as large as a full-sized hospital. All of their doctors worked with the Kingsmen, Merlin often taking on the responsibilities of head doctor when he was able, assuming the damage wasn’t too catastrophic.

         He knew they didn’t have any other patients housed there at the moment and pushed right into the first room. Only then did he slow down, stop, stand.

         There was a gentle beeping that filled the air, but otherwise all was quiet and still.

         Harry was there, in the bed beneath a blanket, hooked up to all sorts of monitors and completely unconscious.

         “Harry…” James muttered, sinking into the armchair beside his bed. He wanted to reach for his hand, curl up with him, be closer somehow, but he knew better than to touch him when he had no idea what his injuries were like or what had happened. Instead, he put his face in his hands and let himself go numb until there was the quiet sound of the door opening and Merlin stepped into the room.

         “What happened?” James mumbled against his hands.

         “Unfortunately,” Merlin said, “we don’t know. The MRI didn’t come back with any sign of head trauma or concussion so we have no way of knowing what put him in a coma, and the footage is encrypted. I’m going to venture a guess and say he didn’t even think to share his password with you.”

         James frowned and shook his head. No, even after so many years together there were some things Harry still kept to himself. “How long will he be like this?” he dared to ask.

         “I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “But I just don’t know. Still, there’s hope, and he’s strong. He’ll make it through.” James wasn’t sure if Merlin really believed that, but the other man gave him a comforting clap on the shoulder nonetheless. “If we somehow find out more, you’ll be the first person to know.”

         “Why wasn’t I the first person to know after it happened?” He lowered his hands and turned to glare at Merlin, and for once Merlin actually looked guilty.

         “I knew how you would react. I wanted to have some meaningful information to give you when you found out. I was about to call you—“

         “It’s fine,” James assured him, even if it wasn’t really _fine_ , and waved his hand. He stared at Harry for a long moment, watching his sleeping face, and slumped over his lap. “I should have gone with him. I knew I should have insisted that I go with him. This is why we’re on this mission together in the first place.”

         Merlin let out a long sigh, stepped over and clapped a hand on his shoulder again, squeezing it. “It’s not your fault, you know that. Harry wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. Besides, what’s done is done. There’s nothing we can do now but wait.”

         The door opened and they both looked up. Another man walked in, young and awkward, dressed in the uniform Merlin provided to all new recruits.

         “Eggsy,” Merlin said, in the same authoritative voice James remembered well from his own time in training, so many years ago. “I thought I told you not to come in here, don’t you have something more important to be working on?”

         Eggsy peered around him at James and Harry. “I heard voices, so I wanted to drop in to see if there was any news.”

         “No more news than there was two hours ago. I know you’re worried but there’s no reason for you to be here. Out with you.” Merlin pointed and Eggsy, obedient puppy that he seemed to be, turned to leave.

         “No, wait.” James said before he could go, standing to look at the boy. He stepped forward, extending a hand despite Merlin’s frowning face. “You’re Eggsy?” He knew that name. Lee’s boy. Harry’s recruit. “I’m Lancelot. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

         Eggsy gripped his hand and shook it enthusiastically, a smile lighting up his face, clearing away the worry in his eyes that had been there a moment before. “Yeah, nice to meet you, too.”

         “I think… you and I should talk for a bit.” James gave him a vague smile and looked at Merlin. “Can I borrow him for a while?”

         Merlin waved his hand. “Fine, go on then.”

         “So,” James started as they walked back down the hall together. “How’s the training going?”

         “S’all right,” Eggsy said, hands in his pockets. “Got my dog this morning.”

         “Oh yeah? Which one?”

         The boy frowned a little. “The pug.”

         “Ah. That’s an… interesting choice.” Not necessarily a bad one, but not the usual pick. “What’d you name him?”

         “Not sure yet. But I’m thinking JB.”

         James nodded. “Mine was a collie. Thankfully, unlike Harry, I’m not shit at naming my pets. Her name was Alice.”

         “Oh,” Eggsy smiled, “Like Alice in Wonderland.”

         “Yes, like Alice in Wonderland.” That wasn’t exactly why he’d named her Alice but he wasn’t surprised the boy made that connection.

         “So, you’re really good friends with Harry then?” Eggsy asked, looking at him and grinning, but James’s smile faded, his step almost faltered. Somehow he’d assumed that Eggsy knew about their relationship. That Harry would have told him. Then again, it had only been a few days. Maybe James had just grown used to everyone thinking of him and Harry as a single unit, of knowing just how close they were.

         Somehow, he felt it wasn’t right for him to be the one to tell Eggsy that. Harry should really be the one to tell him. Or maybe he would figure it out on his own.

         “You could say that,” he said.

         “Harry told me you knew my father.”

         James nodded slowly. “Yes… I did.” He paused. “Did Harry… say anything else about me?”

         Eggsy shrugged. “Said you two were right old chums or something like that.”

         “Ah, I see.” Well, he would just let it slide for now. “Why don’t you tell me about your recruitment?”

         Eggsy looked a bit like a kid who’d just been asked how he was doing in school but smiled a moment later and agreed.

         Over tea, Eggsy told him the whole story, and then launched into a little about his new friend Roxy. James had to smile at that, glad they were getting along, and mentioned that Roxy was his recruit.

         He did wonder why Harry hadn’t told him much about Eggsy, but then, he hadn’t seen the man all that much between Bedivere’s death and now. They were both shaken up, and Harry had been busy. Maybe trying to take his mind off it. He supposed he wouldn’t know for sure until Harry woke up.

        

The days felt like they crawled and flew by at the same time. James spent most of his days (and nights) sitting in that armchair at Harry’s bedside, wanting to be there when he woke up, wanting to be the first thing he saw. For the first few nights, Merlin tried to kick him out, and eventually gave up.

         Eggsy came to see him, sometimes, with JB always yapping at his heels. Roxy, being Roxy, made repeated attempts at getting him out of that room, forcing him to go on walks, to exercise, and he did, because he knew she’d be at his throat if he didn’t. The exercise made him feel better, too, helped him think, when otherwise he’d just be curled up in that chair, sleeping, reading, and worrying.

         Too many times now, he’d considered the fact that Harry might never wake up.

         It had been a full month, his condition the same, no new information, nothing changed, when there was a knock and James called for them to come in, expecting Merlin or maybe Roxy. Not Eggsy, he never knocked.

         “James.”

         He looked up at the unexpected voice, unfolded himself from the chair and got to his feet, running a hand back through his hair. “Percival,” he nearly stuttered. “You’re back from Paris? Or… Rome, or wherever you were?”

         The younger man straightened, gaze darting around the room, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Both, actually. I’ve been traveling around quite a bit, but I’ve had to come back every so often to keep tabs on my recruit. And to… see Roxy, of course.”

         “Of course.” It was strange. It had been so many years since they were together, and he still felt like he was twenty-three around Percival. Awkward, unsure of himself, and guilty. He brushed it off, but Roxy was right. It had all been his fault. Perci deserved an apology. “Listen,” he began, but the other man held up a hand to stop him.

         “No, uh…” He glanced at Harry, and then motioned behind him. “Do you mind if we talk outside?”

         James, too, looked at Harry for a long moment, and then nodded. “Of course.”

         Once they stepped out, the other man relaxed. “Roxy told me she spoke with you,” he said.

         “Yes,” James said. “And the truth is, I’m really sorry and—”

         “Listen,” Percival held up a hand. “You don’t… have to apologize. It was both of our faults.”

         “No,” James shook his head. “I was the one who was always pressuring you, I was the one who threatened to leave, and I was the one who broke it off. Don’t even try to blame yourself, Perci.” He frowned. “I was stupid and twenty-three, and you were way too good for me. You always have been. You’ve always deserved better. And I’m sorry.”

         Perci snorted at that. “And Harry?”

         James paused, glanced at the door to his room. “Harry… is different. You know that. I’m a better person because of him. And I think… he’s better because of me, too.”

         Percival smiled in a way that was far too much like the way Roxy smiled when she was onto something. “Cute.”

         James didn’t want to admit that he flushed, but he did.

         “You two were made for each other.” Percival sighed. “You’ve been together twelve years. If you love him that much, just marry him already.”

         James really wasn’t sure what to make of Percival’s sudden forwardness after so many years of resolutely not speaking with him. Hopefully it was a good thing. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “We’ll see.” Admittedly, he had thought about marriage… thought about it quite a lot, actually. He just hadn’t found the right time to broach the subject yet. “So… does that mean you accept my apology?”

         “I do.” Percival sniffed. “We’re too old to be acting like petulant twenty-somethings. You’ve moved on, and I have too. We can get on with it and be friends, I think.”

         “Good.” James nodded, scratched his chin. “By the way, speaking of relationships…”

         “If it’s about Tristan,” Percival frowned, flushing a little. “Because I know it’s been getting around all over headquarters, then yes. He finally asked me out, for tomorrow evening.”

         James grinned at that and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, it’s about time.” Tristan had occasionally whined to him about it. From what he understood, Tristan had whined to everyone _except_ Percival about how head over heels he was for him. He’d been after Percival for years and never had the courage to take it anywhere. “Tell me how it goes?”

         “Maybe.” Percival turned to go, then raised his eyebrows at him. “And James? When Harry wakes up… just bloody talk to him already.”

         James sighed quietly as Percival left. He and Roxy were more alike than they would ever admit.

         Talk to him. Right. When Harry woke up, he would.

 

 

 

The weeks slipped away from him, the days blurring together. As the weeks turned into months, James stopped sleeping by Harry’s bedside as often. Many nights he spent at home, even though the bed there felt empty and cold.

         And then, one night, one miraculous, perfect night, he got a call from Merlin after finally managing to fall asleep.

         “Harry’s awake.”

         Half an hour later, James arrived at headquarters, dressed only in dirty trousers and an old dress shirt with his suit jacket thrown over it. He was so tired he was wide awake, but he didn’t care.

         Harry was exhausted and looked like a mess but his eyes were open and he smiled when James held his hand, kissed his lips, laughed and cried. And even though he could hardly move and could barely speak, Harry cried a little, too.

         Harry wasn’t awake for very long before falling asleep again, but James stayed at his bedside as Merlin tended to him, and eventually fell asleep, still holding Harry’s hand loosely in his.

         The recovery was slow, but as days went on Merlin told him Harry was recovering far more quickly than he reasonably should have, considering how long he’d been out. And there were so, so many things James needed to talk to Harry about, but knew he couldn’t, not until Harry had recovered enough for it. Until then, he would just be there for him.

         When a few weeks had passed and Harry was getting to the point that he was awake for longer and was regaining his strength, James sat next to him, telling him what he’d missed. He told him how well Eggsy and Roxy were both doing, mostly, and Merlin managed to get Harry’s password so they could finally study the footage he’d taken.

         James also told Harry that he’d made up with Percival, that they were friends again now. But he didn’t say anything about the way he and Harry had parted the night before Harry’s injury. Harry didn’t say anything about, it either. Honestly, he seemed just as happy to be awake again as James was to have him back.

         “I had dreams about you,” Harry muttered, rubbing James’s knuckles with his thumb, smiling at him.

         “Really?” James asked. “What kind of dreams?”

         “Hmm, well, if you really want to know, in one of them you came out of a lake half naked and told me you were there to serve my every need.”

         James laughed at that. “You know I think I could re-enact that if you wanted me to.” He winked at him and Harry laughed, too.

         “I knew you were with me,” the other man said. “It was like I could feel you beside me, watching over me. And I wanted to wake up again, for you.”

         “Harry,” James began, starting to think this might be a good time. “You know we have a lot to talk about.”

         Harry smiled faintly, rested his head back against the pillows, and closed his eyes, squeezing James’s hand. “Of course we do, my dear man. Of course we do.” But before James could say anything else, or start any real sort of conversation, Harry was asleep.

         He didn’t dare bring it up again for a long while after that, not until Harry was declared fit enough to leave the hospital wing, and to continue working on the mission as well. They’d discovered that the Valentine Corporation was likely behind the implant that had caused Professor Arnold’s head to explode, and Harry intended to meet with Valentine face to face.

         That evening, when Harry came home for the first time in months, James started right on it before they could really get settled. “We need to talk.”

         Harry turned toward him, watched him for a moment. He looked good, back in his usual suit, his hair trimmed and slicked back, like the past few months hadn’t happened at all. The only sign of the weeks he’d spent in a coma was a slight weariness in his eyes.

         James was sure Harry was even more tired than he would ever let on, but this was important.

         “Of course,” Harry said slowly. “What did you want to talk about, my dear man?”

         James sighed. Now that he finally had Harry where he wanted him, he didn’t even know where to begin.

         “Let’s sit down,” Harry offered, took his elbow and walked with him to bedroom, where they sat together on the loveseat against one wall. James stretched out his legs and stared at his lap. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, watching him expectantly.

         “I don’t know,” James said as he tried to find a good starting point. “Everything has just felt like a mess since I was sick and then… Bedivere. And everything felt so… heavy between us, and I wanted to talk to you but you didn’t want to talk to me and then… you were in a coma for so long that at this point I’m just happy to have you back.”

         He reached out and took Harry’s hand and the older man squeezed it.

         “But now we’re just right back to business, right back to the mission, and it’s _our_ mission. We should be doing it together, but I don’t feel like we are.” He looked at Harry. “You’ve just been… making up excuses to go without me. Doing it all yourself. And I feel like I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what it is.”

         “Oh,” Harry said as the realization hit him, and he shook his head and rubbed James’s knuckles. “No, no, it isn’t you, my darling man. Of course not. It’s never been anything you did wrong. I would have told you. It’s…” He sighed. “Admittedly, it’s all been my own selfishness, I think.”

         James frowned at him, although he did feel a little relieved.

         “I just,” Harry fumbled, looked away for a moment as he grabbed at the right words. “I could have lost you.” He squeezed James’s hand tighter in his, so hard it almost hurt. “And I couldn’t bear that thought. That it could have been you, and not him. And then I… I don’t know what I would have done with myself.” He paused for a moment, pursed his lips, but James could tell he had more to say, and so he waited. He just held Harry’s hand tight and rubbed the side of his palm with his thumb.

         “Then I started to think,” Harry began again, slowly, “how it would have been easier if I didn’t love you at all, or anyone, really. But I couldn’t… bear that thought, either. Living my life without you at my side was just… unthinkable. And when I started working with Eggsy, I realized just how _long_ we’ve been together. You were younger than Eggsy is now. We’re getting older and older, and I feel like we haven’t done enough with our lives. But I knew you were mourning Bedivere, and just as stunned as I was, and still recovering from being sick, and I just couldn’t… burden you with all of that foolishness. I just couldn’t.”

         He frowned, his gaze still fixed on a distant point, but James smiled at him, moved over until their thighs were pressed together, and leaned into him, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

         “It’s not foolish,” James muttered. “You’re right. You’ve just crested fifty. I’m almost forty. We’ve been together _twelve years_ , Harry. We’re getting old. But,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss just below Harry’s ear. “We have so many more years to spend together. And I’m… okay. I was shaken up after Bedivere’s death, but I’m okay. And I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you, not if I have anything to say about it.” He rubbed Harry’s hand with his, brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of it, and his knuckles, and his fingers, until Harry turned towards him and smiled, ran his other hand through James’s hair, and pulled him closer.

         “God, I love you.” Harry whispered with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “I love you more than anything. I never want you to think otherwise. And I’ve missed you. Even in my dreams I’ve missed you so damn much.”

         “Harry,” James muttered, and made a quiet sound of need.

         Harry coaxed him over, closer, until they were kissing, long and deep and slow. James tangled one hand into the other man’s hair. Harry looped an arm around his waist and pulled him over until James was practically on his lap and their chests were pressed together. They fit, warm and perfect. With the two of them tangled together like that, everything felt right again.

         James coaxed Harry’s glasses off his face, set them on the side table, and moved closer, straddling his thighs, settling their hips together. He leaned down over the older man, stroking his hair, kissing him deeper and deeper, hard and desperate because he’d missed him so much and it was impossible to convey just how much with words alone.

         Harry’s hands settled on his hips, warm and familiar, and rucked up his shirt, fingertips brushing his skin. James rolled his hips downward, rocking against Harry’s. Both of them groaned at the friction, at the way their half-hard cocks bumped together through the thick cloth of their trousers.

         The feeling was so good, sending such a wonderful warm, pleasurable sensation up his spine that he did it again, and again, kissing Harry and rutting into his lap. Harry nipped at his mouth and slid one hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, fingers brushing the crack of his arse. Then Harry’s lips moved down his neck, nipping and kissing at his skin. James tilted his head and half-sobbed. He’d been so worried for so long he hadn’t even realized how desperate he was, how much he needed this, needed Harry, and with the way Harry was rocking back up against him, shoving their hips together, he could only imagine the other man felt the same.

         “God, we’re going to ruin our trousers if we don’t take them off,” Harry hissed against his skin. “Let’s get on the bed.”

         James felt like he’d never taken his clothes off so fast in his life. It was like he was in his twenties again, the two of them still desperately kissing as they stumbled to their feet, tearing off their ties, tossing suit jackets and waistcoats to the couch, unbuttoning their shirts and pushing down their trousers until they finally managed to pull off their own clothes or each other’s and collapsed, naked, onto the bed. James pressed Harry down against the blankets and pulled their hips together, groaning aloud at the way their aching cocks felt, pressed up alongside each other.

         “Is this all right?” James gasped against the older man’s lips, trying to get their legs into a better position, pulling Harry’s hips up against his and groaning quietly when he found a better angle.

         “Oh, darling,” Harry breathed, looping one leg around the back of James’s thigh, one hand on his back, the other tangled into his hair, carding his fingers through it. “You feel perfect, just like this.”

         “You feel so damn good,” James agreed, kissing his lips and bringing one hand between them to wrap his palm around their lengths.

         He stroked them together, slow and gentle at first, twisting his fingers around the heads and rubbing at Harry’s, smiling when the older man gasped. “I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

         “I think I have some idea,” Harry said against his lips, and dragged him down into a long, deep kiss, rocking his hips up into James’s hand. “You’re desperate.” He ran his fingers down James’s spine, rubbing at the bumps along it. “And I can feel you leaking already.”

         James grinned, stroking them together once, hard, making them both gasp. He nipped at Harry’s mouth, sucked on his lower lip, and kissed him long and hard again as he started stroking them at a slow, easy pace, rocking his hips down against Harry’s. “Well it’s been a while,” he whispered. “I don’t think you can blame me for being impatient. You’re just as hard.”

         “Yes, I am,” Harry admitted, tilting his head back as James went to kiss his neck, licking and nipping at his skin as he made his way down to his shoulder. He could feel Harry shuddering against him, arching his hips up into his hand.

         When James reached his collarbone, he bit down, sucking a mark into his skin. He moaned when Harry moaned, stroking them harder. He moved back to his lips to kiss him, shoving their mouths together, breathing him in, moaning as Harry licked into his mouth and sucked on his tongue. He kissed him until their lips were red and his jaw was starting to ache from how deep the kisses were. Then, he drew back and pressed one more kiss, soft and slow, to his lips.

         “Tell me what you want,” Harry mumbled to him, gently stroking his hair with one hand. James smiled and closed his eyes, leaning into that touch. “I’ll give you anything.”

         “Do you think Merlin would kill me if I asked you to roll me over and fuck the living daylights out of me?” James muttered, smiling.

         Harry kissed him again, arched up against him, and tangled his fingers tighter into his hair. “It isn’t any of Merlin’s damn business,” he muttered, kissing the corner of James’s mouth and along his jaw, pressing his nose below his ear.

         “Aren’t you still technically recovering?”

         “If I can go on a mission,” Harry said, nipping at his neck, “I think I have plenty of energy to fuck you.” James stroked them harder, rubbed pointedly at the side of Harry’s cock with his thumb and moaned.

         Harry rested his head back on the pillows and stared up at James. Their eyes met and they both smiled. Harry rubbed at James’s cheek with his thumb. “You’re gorgeous,” he said. James smiled and kissed his wrist.

         Gently, Harry leaned up and rolled him over, pressing James down against the blankets, stroking his chest, and down along his side to his hip. “Gorgeous, gorgeous man,” he mumbled, kissing his neck, breathing him in.

         “Harry,” James hissed, arching his hips up and groaning quietly. “I swear to God you’d better not drag this out on purpose.”

         “Oh, I’m absolutely going to drag it out,” Harry muttered against his neck. James could feel him grinning, the arse. “But only enough to make it better, my dearest man. My gorgeous James. My darling love. Only enough to make it better.”

         James moaned quietly at that, and Harry shifted his thigh between James’s legs, rolling down gently against his aching cock, drawing out those moans as the older man kissed down his neck and across his chest and shoulders. His thumbs rubbed at James’s nipples until he arched up hard into that touch, and then moved down, over his stomach, his hips, and his thighs, delicately avoiding his erection.

         “Christ, Harry,” James breathed, tangling one hand tight into the older man’s hair, rocking his hips up against Harry’s thigh. “Come on, please.”

         Harry smiled and at last brought his hand around, cupping his arse and squeezing gently, slipping his fingers into the crack. “All right,” he acquiesced, rubbing at James’s entrance, making him gasp. “You’re no less impatient than you were the last time we had sex, I see.”

         “Like you’re much better when I have you in this position,” James retorted, almost amazed that he still had the mental capacity to banter with Harry touching him like that. He grinned, eyes closed, and Harry laughed a little and kissed him.

         “Cheeky,” the older man mumbled against his lips, pulling his hand away for a moment to open the bedside drawer and pull out the lube, popping the cap.

         “Just wait,” James said, stroking the other man’s hair as Harry coated his fingers in lube. “Next time I’ll ride you so hard we’re both sore for days after and then we’ll see who the impatient one is.”

         “God,” Harry growled, “you’re so perfect.” He leaned down to nip at his mouth, to kiss him hard, and pressed one finger against his entrance, pushing it all the way inside in one slick movement.

         James’s fingers tightened in the older man’s hair, and he would have shouted if it hadn’t been muffled into Harry’s mouth. He arched hard up against him, and Harry rubbed at his side with his other hand, soothing him until he relaxed again and just moaned into their kisses.

         James pulled Harry in closer by his hair, pressed his hips up into his hand, and rocked them gently as Harry twisted and curled his finger inside him, then pushed in a second, scissoring them and widening him out.

         “You’re so hot around me,” Harry hissed against his lips, “God, I can’t wait to be in you. After so long apart you’re all tight. Relax a little for me, love.” James breathed out a slow, deep breath, relaxed his muscles, and Harry kissed him gently. “There’s a good man.”

         He pulled his two fingers out, gave James a moment to breathe, and then pressed three into him, coaxing his way past the tight ring of muscle and up inside him, giving him a moment to relax after he got them in up to the first knuckle. They kissed, hot and wet, and James moaned into his mouth as Harry worked his fingers in further, twisting them up into him and settling them there for a moment.

         “Gorgeous, gorgeous man,” Harry whispered, kissing at his lips, his cheek, and the shell of his ear. Gently, he pulled his fingers almost all the way out and pushed them in again, starting up a slow, even pace until James was moaning, rocking his hips into his hand. “Just relax,” the older man muttered into his ear, his voice quiet and deep. James moaned again, curling his fingers into the other man’s hair and rocking his hips.

         “I’m ready, Harry,” he breathed at last, voice tight. “I want you.”

         Harry pressed a warm kiss below his ear and smiled. “I know you do, darling man. I want you, too.” He kissed him again, on the lips, and James leaned up into it. They lingered there for a moment before Harry pulled back to slick his cock.

         Then the older man’s hands rested, warm, on his thighs, coaxing them apart. He pressed one hand beneath James’s arse, lifting his hips, and positioned himself.

         James opened his eyes, enough to watch Harry’s face as the head of the other man’s cock pressed up against his entrance and pushed inside. Harry paused for a moment and James moaned quietly at the thickness and the heat and the way the older man’s cock stretched him out and held him open. And then in one long, delicious thrust Harry slid home, with a grunt of effort and both of them groaning at the feel of it.

         When Harry settled, hot and heavy inside him, James clutched his hair and trembled beneath him, gasping for breath. He rolled his hips up against Harry’s, nice and easy, and moaned again. “God, you feel good,” he breathed.

         Harry pulled their hips tighter together, leaned over and kissed him, and jerked his hips, shoving in a little deeper, sending shivers up James’s spine.

         “It’s been so long,” Harry breathed, rutting into him in slow, steady thrusts. “I just want to take you apart. Fuck you so hard and deep all you do is beg for me.” He accentuated his words with harder, sharper thrusts, barely pulling out, just jerking into him, and James gasped with each one. “And neither of us will be thinking about any of this mess around us, just us.”

         “Please,” James moaned, twisting his fingers tight into Harry’s hair. The pomade-slicked strands were thick between his fingers as he pulled it loose from where Harry had it slicked back. He arched his hips up, looped his legs around the other man’s waist and pulled Harry down against his lips to kiss him, long and slow and desperate as he rocked up against him.

         “Gorgeous boy, that’s what you are,” Harry mumbled against his lips. “You’re all mine right now, just think about that.” Pulling out at last, James hissed quietly at the feel of it, of Harry’s cock pulling out until just the head was inside him, and then all at once the older man slid back in, slamming home. James shouted, arching off the blankets, panting.

         Harry leaned in to kiss him and James dragged him deeper into his mouth, their tongues pressed together, swallowing each other’s moans. Harry pulled out as they kissed, just halfway this time, shoved back in, and started up a steady, hard pace, just like that.

         Closing his eyes, James just took it in, reveled in it. He let himself get lost in the push and the pull, and the way Harry filled him just right. After all these years he wouldn’t have been surprised if his arse had taken up the exact shape of Harry’s cock permanently. And it felt so good, each thrust sending shivers up his spine, making him arch towards the older man a little more, moan a little louder. Harry was moaning with him, holding him close, and everything was perfect.

         Harry kissed his neck and James smiled, stroking the man’s hair as he groaned. He could feel himself nearing his climax already, stomach tight, cock hot and aching and leaking, but he strived to hold out as long as possible, to make it last.

         When Harry wrapped his fingers around his cock, though, James gasped, and when the man leaned down and whispered into his ear, “Come for me, gorgeous. Come, come.” James shook and sobbed once, clutched Harry tighter and arched his hips up.

         As the other man slid home again, James came all at once, hard, gasping and sobbing. Stilling inside him, Harry followed him right over the edge, fingers digging into James’s hip. Harry gasped beautifully against his shoulder, shaking with him, moaning with him.

         Together, they collapsed back onto the mattress, utterly spent. Harry wrapped his arms around James’s waist and buried his face in his shoulder. James smoothed out Harry’s hair, stroked his back, and disentangled their legs, letting Harry slide out, wincing a little as he did.

         They were a mess, wet and exhausted. But as he wrapped his arms around Harry and squeezed him, pressing a kiss below his ear and receiving one in return, he realized hadn’t been happier in months.

         “Better now?” Harry whispered to him, kissing his ear.

         James nodded. “Much better, Harry.” He let out a long, contented sigh and closed his eyes.

         “Good.” Harry rolled off him and leaned up on one elbow, looking down at him. One warm hand stroked James’s cheek, and James smiled up at him, placing his hand over Harry’s.

         “What?” He grinned.

         “I can look at you if I want to,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re gorgeous and I love you.”

         James laughed a little at that. “Love you too, Harry.” He pressed a soft kiss to the other man’s palm.

         Harry’s smile faded for a moment and he tangled their fingers together, squeezing James’s hand. He seemed like he wanted to say something—it showed in his eyes—but he just watched James instead.

         “I should ask you something,” he said at last.

         From the look in his eyes, it was serious, and James started to sit up. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

         “Nothing’s wrong,” Harry assured him, gently pressing him back against the pillows. “Just… stay there.”

         Reluctantly disentangling himself, Harry slipped out of bed, crossing the room to where they’d left their clothes. He started rummaging in his suit pocket, eventually pulling something out of it before making his way back to the bed and laying beside James again, holding the object behind his back.

         “I wanted to ask you this sooner,” he said with a slow breath. “But… too many other things got in the way. I’m not sure if now is the right time, or if there will ever be a _right_ time. But with everything going on right now I don’t want… something to happen to one of us without you… well.”

         “Harry…,” James mumbled. His heart was skipping beats in his chest. He wasn’t sure if Harry was about to ask what he thought he was about to ask but… a part of him dared to hope.

         “I don’t even know how to say this,” Harry began again, laughing a little, shaking his head. “I’ve never been very good at… this sort of thing, you know. But I… well.” He cleared his throat, sat up a little more, and finally pulled out the small black box he’d been hiding behind his back, and opened it.

         James could swear he stopped breathing.

         Inside was a ring, a very simple silver band, not overly gaudy. He looked up at Harry.

         “James Spencer,” Harry said carefully, meeting his eyes. “Will you do me the honor of… marrying me and making me the happiest Kingsman there has ever been?”

         James’s mouth hung open for a few heartbeats as he took it in. And then, when it settled, when Harry’s words finally sunk in, he grinned, wider than it felt he ever had before, and leaned in to kiss him square on the mouth. “Holy hell Harry, of course I will. God yes, absolutely yes.”

         He leaned in to kiss him again and Harry laughed against his lips and nudged him away. “Just a moment, here, let me see your hand.” Gently, he took the hand James offered him and slid the ring on. For a long moment, Harry stroked James’s hand with his fingers, then pulled him closer by it, leaned towards him and kissed him, long and deep and slow. They fell back onto the mattress together, arms wrapped around each other as tight as they could, kissing until they were gasping for breath and smiling and laughing.

         “I thought you’d never ask.” James grinned.

         “I was afraid you’d suggest it before I had a chance to,” Harry muttered against his lips. “And then I was just… so, so afraid that I would lose you before I had the chance to marry you, to call you my husband.”

         James kissed him again, smiling against his lips. “Well, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

         “I should hope not.”

         Harry rested his head on James’s shoulder. They breathed. James stroked his hair. “A small wedding, with just the Kingsman and my parents.”

         Harry nodded.

         “And then we dig down deep into this Valentine case together. As a married couple.” He could feel Harry grinning against his skin when he said that and smiled wider. “It’s like Merlin said. We’ve always been most effective as a team.”

         “And darling,” Harry said, pulling him closer, squeezing him tight. “I would never want it any other way.”

                


End file.
